Of Ghosts and Ghosts of the Past
by Gypsy of Orion
Summary: Diana Ghost has a lovely little studio apartment in New York, a cat, a double life, and a vast knowledge of how to kill people with anything that has a blade or is made of a metal. . But when she's caught, SHIELD gives her two choices; join or jail. What happens as she joins the secret government agency and falls in love, something she swore she'd never do, with a fellow Avenger?


DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Avengers or any of their respective trademarks, I only own what you do not recognize. I am making no money from this story

A/N: This is my first go at fanfiction, so constructive criticism is gladly welcomed. However, flames will be used to build a lovely fire and roast marshmallows over.

The Ghost hid in the clichéd closet, waiting for her target to return to his fancy hotel. She'd been waiting for twelve hours, since he left at noon that day. It was midnight, and she had had thoughts of a nice soak in the Jacuzzi hot tub in her luxury suite, maybe a glass of champagne and a steak. Her contact had paid very well, and the other half was promised as soon as this target was dead. She sighed, and squirmed. Twelve hours confined in this goddamn closet. Hot tub, champagne, _steak_…

She heard the swipe of the hotel key card, and reached for her knife, if it could be called that. Seven inches long, with a sterling silver handle and the width of a razor. It was The Ghost's trademark tool- she was glad she knew the ropes of welding, forging, and blacksmithing- not that she usually needed it. She did imagine people would probably be concerned with the amount of her trademark 'Ghost Knife' she actually required to do her job. She never used the same blade twice, but she did use the same handles, of which she had seven.

The door closed, and she extended a hand out to the door of the closet, ready to begin her strike, when she heard the female giggle. Fucking hell. Now she'd have to wait- something she really hated doing- because she didn't leave witnesses. She wasn't called The Ghost for nothing- she did it quickly, quietly, she didn't leave evidence and she especially didn't leave witnesses. "Aww, Clint, I'd really love to go another round but we both know your wife is joining you tomorrow" the female voice hiccupped "and we're drunk as hell. We'd fall asleep" the voice hiccupped again, "and she would see us. Can't have that now, can we?" There was silence for a few moments, and then she heard the sound of lips making moist contact, the female giggling again and a deep rumble of male laughter. "Alright, bye, Clint honey." The female giggled, and her target responded. "Night, Tasha." There was the sound of more lips smacking. She brushed her black hair behind her ear, getting impatient. She rechecked the two daggers she had in halters on her tight black jeans, her other Ghost Knife on her left hip, the razorblades in her bra, and her new Ghost Sword in its cover on her back. She was kind of hoping she'd get the chance to try it out, but her client had been specific about the way he wanted it done; only a single cut across the throat. Oh well. There was always next time, always more clients.

The door finally opened, after what seemed like eons. It remained open for an abnormal amount of time, and then the door finally shut. In her mind, she was going over the layout of the suite- the bathroom was located right next to the door. A small kitchenette was right next to the abnormally huge bathroom, and kaddy corner from the kitchenette was a living room and T.V. area. Next to the living room was the bedroom- as the only walls in this suite was in the bathroom, screens similar to Japanese screens cut off the bedroom. There was a balcony with a sliding glass door into the living room. Perfect.

Based on what she had heard, The Ghost figured that her mark would head straight to the bedroom, and pass out. She was not disappointed when she heard the opening of the screen, and a sound that indicated it had been closed halfway. She breathed quietly, allowing herself to open and further her senses. She could smell alcohol, tequila maybe. She heard his clothes hit the floor, a suitcase zipping and unzipping, and the squeaks of bed springs. As her target adjusted himself into the bed, tossing and turning, she allowed herself to open the closet door slightly, so as to see. She was correct about the screen being only halfway closed; she smiled to herself, she'd be able to sneak in and out of that gap without moving the screen. Finally, the man turned out the light. She listened to his breathing, and when she began to hear snores, opened the closet door enough so that she could get out. She placed her bag outside of it- knives and swords tended to draw a lot of unnecessary attention.

Step around the coffee table, step towards the sliding glass door, silently unlocking it. She couldn't just _walk_ out the door- even amateur assassins knew that. She pulled her hair back tightly and redid her ponytail. Her target was still snoring; she placed the cuffs of her jeans over her boots, so that she could tuck them into her boots, should it be needed. Some people were unpredictable bleeders. Finally, she walked over to the screen and slid in.

The man was lying on his back in the middle of the bed, his face covered in clean-shaven and his mouth slightly open. His blonde hair was messy, untamed. The Ghost could see that he had wrinkles- more like worry lines, as her Grandma would have said. He looked kind- gentle. But she knew he wasn't. Her client had told her that this man was a lobbyist, and an activist. Her client had figured out some sort drug that could potentially help to cure leukemia. The target, Clint Clarton, was objecting because the only way they could test the drug was on animals, and then after that on sample trials. Clint Clarton was saying, in no certain terms, 'that those trials would happen over his dead body' and here she was. Her heart quaked as she thought of her little sister, Laurel, and what she had suffered… Her heart hardened, and she approached the bed, and slid her knife out of the right- leg holster. Just as she kneeled on the bed, ready to make the first and only slice, the lights were turned on, and a familiar female voice said, "Drop the knife, honey." She dropped it and put her hands up, turning towards the voice that belonged to a woman with hair the color of blood, and a Glock in her hand. Her hands were itching towards the sword when she heard the cocking of a gun and the male saying, "Don't even think about it." She sighed and placed her hands out straight in front of her, much like a mummy in the cartoons Laurel liked. The Ghost had been caught. Well, hell.

* * *

"Diana Selene Ghost, born in Atlanta, Georgia, 24 years old. Lived with your Grandmother, Ana Fantoma, immigrant from Romania, in the city of Greenville with your little sister, Laurel Renee, until the age of twelve, after the death of your grandmother. You were then returned to your mother and stepfather in Atlanta, Georgia. Your sister then died of Leukemia on August 19th…"

"Shut up! Leave Laurel out of this!" Diana snarled at the middle-aged man reading her file out loud. The name badge on his chest said Phil Coulson. He'd been asking her questions, and so far she had remained stoic and silent. He smiled at her outburst. "Touchy subject? That's ok, I've got a few of them myself. My Captain America memorabilia collection, for example…" He rambled on. Diana ran over the events of the past few hours; after the people named Clint and Natasha had handcuffed her and blind-folded her, she'd been put into a vehicle, then onto a plane, then a helicopter, and walked into an interrogation room. She thought her eyes were going to burn when they'd been exposed to the bright fluorescent lights. Her thinking was interrupted by beeping of what appeared to be Coulson's pager. He read it, and then suddenly the agent's brown eyes were boring into her own flint blue ones. "Listen here, Miss Ghost. You've got quite a record dripping with blood. But it appears that these men all deserved it. The serial rapist in Denver you killed two years ago, the war lord from The Congo hiding in Venezuela. So, we would like to offer you a choice; we want to you to join us. We're a secret government agency called SHIELD, and we have an initiative. The initiative is to gather a group of extraordinary people, to help us fight the battles we never could- people like you. If you join us, your red record will disappear. We have multiple blades we've collected from your apartment. They act and look like steel- but they're not. They're a kind of metal we've never seen before. And from the blood samples we took when you fell asleep on the plane, your iron levels are high enough to kill three grown men. And it seems you've got a bit mercury in your blood as well, a bit of radiation. Our top scientists have decided that you have a power, one we've never seen before. If you join us, you'll be taken care of; you'll have a new family. If you don't, we will take you to a jail, a special jail. The choice is yours. Oh, and by the way, catch." Coulson through his metal thermos at her, and Diana instinctively lifted her hand and the metal melted. Fuck, she mentally swore in Romanian. Since her secret was out anyway, she raised her hand and mentally willed it to go back into the thermos it had been seconds earlier. Diana grabbed the thermos and handed it to Coulson. "I'll do it." She said, flint blue eyes once again meeting brown ones. Coulson then went to tell her about the Avengers and the Avengers Initiative. Diana was surprised by what she was hearing- but she was thinking while listening. What did she have to lose? She'd tried doing good, something Laurel would have been proud of her older sister for doing. I've gone a little off that path, Diana mentally snorted. Maybe she could try again, be a super hero like in one of the comics her dear sister had so loved to read. The clichéd villain turned hero. And she really didn't want to go to jail. After once again asking if she was sure, and her agreeing again, Coulson smiled, and extended a hand- "You can call me Phil."

"Only if you call me Diana."


End file.
